


Comfort Food

by msred



Series: Starting Over [23]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Actor - Freeform, Cooking, Couple, Domestic Fluff, F/M, celebrity, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: I've always enjoyed cooking. I enjoy it even more when I get to share it with people I love. I enjoy it the most when He's there to do it with me.





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically pointless and fluffier than the unicorn in "Despicable Me." But it's cute.

_29 months together, 13 months married (July, Year 4)_

In hindsight, I probably didn't _need_ to have the music turned up so loud. Maybe if I hadn't, I'd have heard Him come in over Justin Timberlake assuring me that it was gonna be him. As it was, I was deep into the world of early 2000s pop music, my wooden spoon and my hips both moving in time to the beat when he entered the kitchen.

"Whatcha doin'?"

My hand flew to my chest and the spoon clattered into the pot, my other hand bracing on the edge of the stove, when I jumped. "Oh my god," I whispered before I turned, leaning back against the stove, to face the smirk I knew would be waiting. "Cooking," I said, with more bravado than I felt. "Dancing."

"Oh. Is that what that was?" He quirked an eyebrow as he crossed the kitchen. He pulled me off the stove by my hips and pecked a quick kiss to my lips before looking over my shoulder. "I thought you wanted me to grill burgers tonight?"

"I did, but," his hands slipped into my back pockets and he kissed me again, bending me back a little over the stove, "mmm." I followed him up when he pulled away, pushing onto my toes for a last quick kiss before I continued. "I forgot, it's national macaroni and cheese day!"

"I'm sorry, what?" He laughed as he pulled back, scanning the ingredients measured and laid out on the counter in individual prep bowls.

I turned back to the burner to continue stirring the melting cheese into the roux. "Oh, that's right. I forgot that _some_ people are _so unfortunate_ as to grow up without southern grandmas."

"Excuse me?" He came to stand beside me, hip resting against the edge of the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes following the spoon in my hand.

"Don't get me wrong, your family is incredible."

"Mmhmm," he popped a bacon crumble into his mouth and I swatted half-heartedly at his hand.

"But BoOoston?" I teased, mimicking his accent. "You guys may know what you're doing with chowder, beans, and lobster, but when it comes to comfort food? It's southern cookin', all the way." I played up my own accent, making it thicker than it had been since before I went to college. I held out my hand for the bowl of pre-measured, freshly shredded sharp cheddar cheese. "Cheddar."

He chuckled as he handed it to me, managing to swipe a pinch before I dumped it into the pot. "You know I've had macaroni and cheese before, right?"

"Not mine." He tilted his head in a nod of acknowledgement. He may tease, but he more than trusts my cooking. He'd actually blamed it more than once for the difference in his physique during his press tour compared to in the movie he'd been promoting. (For the record, I blame the beer. I also make it a point to show him, regularly, that there is nothing wrong with his "hiatus bod," as he calls it.) "Hey! Stop that!" I slapped the back of his hand for real when he reached for the bacon again. "Gimme." He pouted, but passed the cutting board with the crumbled bacon. I pushed almost all the meat into the pot and picked up the last couple pieces between my fingers. He grinned when I put my fingers to his lips then opened his mouth. "You're ridiculous," I said, even as I popped the bacon between his lips.

"You love me." He picked up the last couple prep bowls one-by-one and handed them to me to add into the cheese sauce before dumping in the drained pasta himself.

"For some reason," I pretended to mumble under my breath, fully knowing he would hear me (and wanting him to). It was no surprise when his hand landed _almost_ too sharply on my ass.

I could only smile as I stirred and he stepped away from me to stack plates and flatware and carry them to the table. My life had changed in immeasurable ways in the previous few years, and there were a million small things every day that reminded me that I was not living the life I ever thought I'd be living. And after almost three years, many of those reminders were still painful ones. But every day the balance shifted a little bit more, with moments like these - putting the finishing touches on a favorite meal while he sang along to the music of my teenage years and set the table - slowly outweighing the painful ones. My past, and the future I thought I would have, would always be a part of me, but now so was this life. And it was a good life.

**Author's Note:**

> Both the narrator and "He" remain unnamed. As notes in the tags, "He" is based on an actual actor (some major fantasy-fulfillment happening here), but I wanted to leave the character open to reader interpretation rather than limit the scope of the story or the reader appeal. (I also just felt weird about putting a real person's name in my writing, since all I've written before was strictly based on fiction.)


End file.
